


just words

by Hymn



Series: just words - a shance soulmate au [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: I promise!, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Rating May Change, Shiro POV, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU, Unreliable Narrator, a hint of underage with shiro and his oc boyfriend, but it is also not as angsty as you probably want either!, deals with age gap issues, endgame: shance, i don't know what all to tag for, if i missed anything important pls let me know, misuse of magic marker, shiro has brief relationships with other ppl, slow slow slow burn omg, they start dating at 16/18 or something, this is not the fluff fic you are looking for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-13 06:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14743442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/pseuds/Hymn
Summary: But when the first mark appeared a year later  -- tiny whorls of ink masquerading as footprints on the soles of Shiro’s feet -- Shiro got it; he understood.It wasn’t fair. Shiro hadn’taskedfor this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> lancey28lance asked "Shance soulmate au where you write on your skin and it shows up on your soulmates? "
> 
> apparently i was real intrigued at the age gap via soulmates -- which isn't a usual trope for me, not gonna lie -- so i got, uh, a little carried away. /sweats, i promise there will be more lance in the next chapter?? but i also can't promise quick updates, i'm v v sorry <3
> 
> (it's weird writing shiro pre-kerberos let alone _childhood_ shiro, so pls forgive me for any weirdness!? this whole thing is weird, i'm so sorry, gkdhg;kjasfkljasf I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING)

Shiro could have done without the soulmate.

“Cadet Shirogane,” snapped Commander Iverson, “do I even _want_ to know what sort of ridiculous idea made you think that this was an acceptable look for a _Galaxy Garrison recruit?_ I can have you punted back into the Cargo Class faster than you can blink, son, I will _not_ tolerate this sort of --”

Internally, Shiro sighed. The rest of his class was trying not to look at him or titter too obviously, and there had been a definite, subtle shift away from him -- not that Shiro blamed them, really.

This _sucked_.

From forehead to toes there were jagged, scribbled in orange and black stripes. A tiger, if Shiro had to guess, though he mostly just wanted to hide in his bunk under the scratchy blanket and not come out until his soulmate’s parents _washed off the stupid marker, already._

At least it sort of matched the orange cadet uniform. Small mercies, and all that.

“--and what, precisely, do you have to say for yourself, Cadet?!”

“Sorry, sir,” Shiro said, trying to keep his shoulders from curling inward with embarrassment. “It was a dare, sir. It won’t happen again, sir!”

_Please, please don’t let it happen again!_

“A dare,” sneered Commander Iverson. “Very well, Cadet Shirogane. I dare you to give me two hundred push ups. _Now_.”

“Sir,” Shiro grit out, “yes, _sir_.”

* * *

No one knew that Shiro had a soulmate, and, if he had his way, no one ever would.

* * *

His mom had liked to watch historical dramas. "People always like to complicate things,” she had told him, like it was a secret just between them. And, curled into her side, cheek on her hip, her fingers gentle smoothing back his hair, he had listened. “Star-crossed romance, different stations -- it’s supposed to not matter if you’re destined to be, but for some reason it always seems to matter _more_ if you’re soulmates.”

On screen, a woman wept.

The camera panned closer, revealed the underside of her forearm bracketed by layers of embroidered silk, and, stark and glistening in black ink against pale skin, kanji. The woman keened, and rubbed at her arm and the wet ink. 

But it did nothing -- the kanji remained, untouched.

“What’s it say?” Shiro had asked, curious. “Why’s she keep crying so much?”

“Mm. It says something very romantic and complicated, my sweet. And she’s crying because she’s sad. If she was smart, she’d forget the soulmate and be like the real world. Fall in love like we do -- free will and all.”

“Huh,” said Shiro.

His mother had ruffled his hair, and added, “So _complicated_. I pity them. It’s supposed to be simple when you have a soulmate. But for some reason people like to make it difficult. I’m glad you’re safe from that, Takashi. Now, I get to make a nuisance of myself match-making a nice girl for you to settle down with when you’re older!”

Shiro, at age six, had only wrinkled his nose, and said, “ _Gross_.”

* * *

It might have been a rare thing to have a soulmate, but they did exist. Shiro met his first when he was seven. Ichiko in his class had one, and Shiro had watched fingerprints of bright, acrylic paint appear streaked across her arms and neck; had watched the way she’d tried not to cry when the teacher had admonished her not to cause a distraction, to go and sit in the hall until her soulmate cleaned up.

 _I pity them_ , he remembered his mother saying. He thought of the stark black of the mysterious kanji; the way the woman had sobbed and sobbed like she was hurt, somewhere hidden, with a mortal wound.

“We’re lucky,” he told his tablemate, boasting. “ _We_ don’t have soulmates.”

“So?” asked Chihiro, tilting up her nose. “You don’t have to be _mean_ about it. Ichiko didn’t do anything, but now she’s in trouble, and that’s not _fair_.”

“She has a soulmate,” insisted Shiro. “It’s not meant to be fair! It’s better if you don’t, you know.”

“Why!”

Shiro had said, very serious: “It’s complicated.”

* * *

He didn’t get why Chihiro refused to talk to him after that; why she hovered protectively around Ichiko and glared any time Shiro was near. Like it was _Shiro’s_ fault that her life was difficult.

It wasn’t Shiro’s fault. It was Ichiko’s, and her soulmate’s. Everyone knew that soulmates were trouble, that they weren’t as _good_ as the real thing. 

After all, no one in Shiro’s family had ever had one. 

Not on his paternal side or his maternal, and it was a mark of pride, of happiness. His mother had said so. And Shiro had seen it, too, a glow to his mother’s face when his father came home from the office and kissed her cheek; an aura that said: _I chose this, I chose you, and that means more than fate or destiny._

But when the first mark appeared a year later -- tiny whorls of ink masquerading as footprints on the soles of Shiro’s feet -- Shiro got it; he understood.

It wasn’t fair. Shiro hadn’t _asked_ for this.

* * *

At least he hadn’t panicked.

Shiro knew enough to keep it a secret -- from his friends, his parents, the world -- and, luckily, it wasn’t that difficult. After that first mark there was nothing for a long, long time -- three years, maybe, and then Shiro was eleven with fingertips stained by magic marker, bright yellow and blue and green, and his mother fussed at him about being tidier, but that was it.

 _No one needs to know_ , he’d thought, rubbing at the colorful pads of his fingers. _No one is going to know! I don’t need a soulmate! I refuse to have one! Just -- leave me alone!_

Shiro was smart. He knew what would happen if he did have one -- if anyone found out -- and at eleven Shiro already knew what he wanted to do with his life. He wanted to go up into space. To be an explorer. To travel to the farthest known reaches and discover aliens, and planets, and maybe have something named after him after doing something really, really brave, and really, extra cool.

He didn’t need a soulmate getting in his way. 

If he had a soulmate then he’d be documented and scrutinized and questioned. Shiro had seen it happen to Ichiko -- and Akemi and Naoko and Tomi -- as they grew, as the real world formed around them, like a cage. Shiro didn’t need the restrictions and special rules. Not when just taking a simple exam became a Herculean effort, the scrutiny intense and suspicious to see if you were cheating, as though your grade were somehow a dangerous group effort.

His mother had said she pitied them, and maybe she did; but the older he grew the more Shiro realized it was jealousy and fear that motivated most people. _He_ had been one of them, after all -- Chihiro had moved away the year before, and had never once spoken to Shiro again, and even after he had understood _why_ , he couldn’t apologize.

He couldn’t, because that would have been too close to revealing his secret, and that was _dangerous_.

It was like...

Soulmates were well and good on television -- star-crossed and pitiable; romanticized and controlled -- but day-to-day they were something else. Something foreign and strange. Frightening, for all that the two were helpless to change anything, for all that it was simply meant to be a matter of _love_. Of belonging.

Of _something_...

Something awful, maybe, because Shiro’s soulmate was a _toddler_ , and his parents or guardians or whoever kept giving the kid _magic markers_ , and now Shiro had random streaks of green and black and red on his calves and his biceps, like he’d gotten into a fight while coloring in a map, and _he was getting weird looks in phys ed._

“Uh,” said Keigo, snorting. “Maybe try coloring _inside_ the lines?”

It seemed easiest for Shiro to start wearing long sleeves and pants, even when it was summer. To start doodling with magic markers just to have the excuse when the marks showed up. With a little time, it just became a quirk -- not even that weird, actually. Shiro breathed easily, secret safe, and made certain to never, ever, accidentally write on his own skin, to leave anything incriminating in any way, just in case.

The last thing he wanted was for his soulmate to become aware of him.

* * *

After that, it wasn’t so bad, not at first. Not for a long time, actually.

He got into the Galaxy Garrison when he turned fifteen; moved away from home and his parents, across the world to learn how to navigate the stars. He did well, he learned fast, he grew stronger and proved himself to be clever and resourceful and _determined_ , and he never once let slip his secret.

Outside of the occasional incident -- like the tiger stripes -- having a soulmate so much younger than him meant that Shiro was rarely bothered by it. He knew that the kid existed, but it didn’t matter, it wasn’t --

It wasn’t _real_ , almost.

Shiro was sixteen and his soulmate was eight, and that was just -- gross. Complicated, like his mother had said. Stupid and star-crossed, and what was Shiro supposed to do, exactly? Wait around until it wasn’t stupid and gross? His soulmate was a kid and Shiro was _sixteen_ , and hormones were a real thing, and so was --

(What had his mother said, so long ago?)

\-- Richard. 

Two years Shiro’s senior, tall and blonde and with a weird American accent and big hands and Shiro wasn’t going to admit to this, not ever, but Richard was everything to him for a while, the stars and the moon and the great beyond, adventure and thrill, secret touches in darkened rooms, heated looks in the commissary.

He was everything Shiro hadn’t known he wanted, and then some.

And there was no way -- _none_ \-- that Shiro was going to allow some eight year old with an addiction to magic markers keep Shiro from pursuing happiness and romance and all the simple, wonderful things his mother had loved. 

* * *

_forget the soulmate; fall in love, free will and all_

* * *

“How?” Richard asked, when Shiro was seventeen. Those big hands of his cupped Shiro’s cheeks, and it was an embarrassing pleasure to be so close to him in height, now, to be growing, catching up, to only need to rock up a little onto his toes to press a kiss to the corner of his boyfriend’s mouth.

“How _what_?” Shiro grinned, arching his brows.

Richard hummed, and stroked his thumbs sweetly along the curve of Shiro’s cheeks, and whispered, “How are you so _pretty_ , Shirogane. God, I just -- I can’t keep my hands off of you, even when you _do_ look like a daycare victim. What the hell happened?”

Shiro blushed, painfully aware of the blotches of purple magic marker marking him up like cow spots. “There was an incident,” he admitted. And then he lied, easy as anything, “I may have fallen asleep. I may have fallen asleep with the marker uncapped. Please, do not judge me for this.”

“Too late,” Richard grinned, and kissed him, and kissed him, and _kissed him_.

* * *

Shiro had his own life and he was going to live it, and to _hell_ with soulmates, star-crossed or otherwise.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ghdgjdlhj'lj;l _you guys are amazing_ , thank you so much! this ch was meant to go up sat but i am impatient and anxious to know if you'll like it, so, uh, here you go?? /sweats copiously
> 
> my unending gratitude to [onoheiwa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onoheiwa/pseuds/onoheiwa), who is the reason this chapter exists and why it sucks a lot less than it did originally! all remaining mistakes are, of course, my own, because i am willful and also snuck in extra scenes after her edits >_>;

When Shiro was ten his class went on a field trip to an aquarium. 

He remembered the lights in the water, and the way the fish had swum in and out of darkness, all glitter and glow. The coral and the long fronds of kelp, the wide, senseless eyes staring at them from behind thick glass. An aquatic wonderland, couched in mystery; even the worst of the children in his class were hushed, awe-inspired, until --

“Do you think fish have soulmates?” asked Takato.

Shiro flinched, but nobody noticed. 

“No,” said their teacher, only the magic had been shattered, and the boisterous voices of a clutch of ten year old children interrupted the hush.

“Don’t be _stupid_.”

“Fish aren’t people! Animals don’t have _soulmates_.”

“How do _you_ know?!”

“Maybe,” said Takato, tapping at the glass where a jellyfish bobbed. “ _Maybe_ soulmates aren’t _really people_. Maybe they’re -- aliens.”

“Aliens?” Shiro asked, feeling faint.

Takato shrugged amidst snickers. “Aliens, animals. Not _human_. If they were human, then why doesn’t _everyone_ have one? They’re different, so --”

“A very interesting point,” Miss Ishimori said, her voice ringing through the black-and-blue room. “But we are here to observe the _fish_ , so if you would all direct your attention to this tank, here, our guide will --”

Teacher continued to lecture, joined shortly by the voice of a middle-aged guide who had to stop every other sentence to clear his throat, and used scientific terms that had everyone tuning him out. Shiro couldn’t hear them at all.

Instead, Takato’s voice was in his ears, filling him, clogging him up, making him think _they’re different_ , and _animal_ , and _alien_.

* * *

At least alien was kinder than animal.

Perhaps it was no wonder that Shiro wanted to take his place amongst the stars, if that were true. He thought about it, sometimes, throughout the years. He didn’t know if was fear, or guilt, or hope -- a teetering sort of uncertainty that held him still in strange moments; as he read the pamphlet for Galaxy Garrison, the first time he exited a flight simulator, when he stared up at the stars above. 

He didn’t much think about the aquarium itself, though, until his soulmate wouldn’t stop fucking drawing on him towards the end of his second year.

* * *

“Maybe I should try for football this year,” Shiro said, staring up at the ceiling of Richard’s dorm. His boyfriend shared with three others, but they were all at club activities and Richard was skipping, so Shiro was as well.

Not the best choice for someone in the running for a Junior Officer’s position next year, but love, Shiro decided with a faint, dopey grin, made you do reckless things.

Richard flopped onto the bed next to him. “You could,” he hummed, and Shiro bit his lip trying not to squirm as Richard’s fingers wriggled their way under his uniform jacket. Shiro almost arched his back to make it easier, but managed -- just barely -- to keep still. “But you’re our ace in basketball. The whole team might commit sepuki if you quit.”

Shiro laughed, an abrupt, squawking sort of noise, which was embarrassing, but -- “ _Sepuki?_ I think you mean seppuku, Richard. What are you doing? Reading lists of Japanese Words Americans Think Are Cool?”

“I am _appalled_ ,” Richard grunted, fighting with brass buttons, “that you would think I am so unoriginal as to --”

“Are you trying to _impress_ me?” Shiro teased.

Richard went still. Then he leaned up on one elbow and stared down at Shiro, dark warmth and hunger in his brown eyes. “Is it working?”

“Not a bit,” Shiro denied, despite how breathless he sounded. “You should, uh, try something else --”

Giving up on the buttons, Richard’s hand drifted lower, lower, and Shiro’s heart rate ratcheted up, his skin ablaze all at once, and Richard leaned down, brushed a kiss to Shiro’s eyebrow, whispered: “I could suck your dick.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Shiro gasped, nodding. “Yeah, that would -- ah! Definitely work!”

* * *

The thing about basketball was all the bare skin.

Now that the kid was -- nine? Probably. Shiro had never thought to take note of the exact date the first mark appeared, so all he had was an approximate guess -- older, they’d upgraded from random fits of full body scribbles to intricate, full illustrations of slightly wobbly geometric shapes, thick, scalloped lines like waves, and the occasional fish or shark.

Apparently, Shiro’s soulmate really liked the ocean. 

At least it was kind of pretty, if rather lacking in skill; sometimes, Shiro got back to his room and stripped to find new marks that made it look like he had an amateur sleeve tattooed onto his arm. He could only be grateful that his uniform cuff hit _just_ far enough down his wrist to have covered it.

It was also _a definite pain Shiro’s ass._

Even leg sleeves and arm sleeves only covered so much. At practice and during games Shiro had taken to wearing leggings beneath the baggy shorts, but it was annoying. He figured if he had to cover up entirely, why not play a sport that really covered _all_ of him? Less danger that way.

 _And_ he was growing. When he’d first joined the Garrison Shiro had been tall, but gawky. Now, with nearly two years as a Cadet under his belt, he was finally starting to fill out. But --

“ _No_ ,” his mother had said, in no uncertain terms, after he’d explained to his very un-sporty mother what American Football entailed. “They’ll break you, Takashi! Don’t you dare. Why don’t you join a nice cultural club, instead? Something indoors, you’ve always had delicate skin.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Shiro had groaned, glad no one in the office that late at night knew how to understand Japanese; these office phones were old and his mother’s voice _carried_. “I have to play a sport. It’s part of the rules. Athletics are just as important as academics, and I --”

“-- that doesn’t mean it should be dangerous,” she ordained, entirely stern.

Which, true enough.

And Shiro didn’t much care to slam into bodies in _that_ way. Martial Arts was an entirely different matter, though, and his mother didn’t need to know everything he was learning at the Garrison. He could give her _this_ , though, and Richard hadn’t cared either way, so when summer was over and third year started he would stick with basketball.

Not that it would be very pleasant, doing so. 

Keeping up such a constant, careful awareness of every inch of his skin was _exhausting_. Shiro had nearly a decade, now, dealing with an unwanted secret. Ten years of hiding a soulmate from anyone and everyone, and he was _tired_ of it, tired of all the layers he was forced to wear, the lies he hid behind, the constant worry that someone would notice, that someone would _see_.

He wished...

In the shower, steam curling the shaggy fall of his bangs, water hitting his legs so hot it nearly burned, Shiro examined the washable marker that painted an aquatic vista over his burgeoning four-pack.

Apparently, the kid had decided their belly button would suit just fine for the eye of a grinning whale. Slowly, one by one, Shiro touched his fingertips to each blue bubble.

“Get some _paper_ , you _moron_ ,” he hissed, the sound lost to the running water.

It sucked, that some kid Shiro had never met -- _would_ never meet, if Shiro had his way -- could make everything so near impossible. So _complicated_. Nearly two years of dating and Shiro was starting to run out of excuses to keep Richard from seeing him entirely naked. He just -- it was _such a risk_ to allow it. 

A curl of color peeking from the hem of his shirt? Sure! That was always there, Richard just hadn’t noticed it, they were _busy_ focusing on _other things_. Sex in the dark? Fine, completely fine, especially if Shiro made certain to slip back into his clothes almost before he’d caught his breath back.

But entirely bare and able to be seen? Entirely intimate? Skin to skin, laid out so that his boyfriend could skate his gaze over every inch of Shiro’s body?

Shivering, Shiro’s fingers tensed, nails scratching at a green starfish.

He _wanted_ that, so, so much. But there was no way he could have explained why there were suddenly jellyfish across his bicep if it were in plain view. And he --

He _couldn’t_.

He couldn’t let Richard know.

“I hate you,” he mumbled, water in his mouth, stinging his eyes and his nose as he turned his face up to the spray. “I _hate_ you, why are you -- you’re _ruining everything_. Just _stop_. Stop! I wish you’d just -- disappear!”

* * *

They didn’t stop, of course. His soulmate didn’t disappear.

Life continued to be complicated.

* * *

Next year was different -- the Galaxy Garrison Cadet Academy lasted for five years. Shiro could _maybe_ have fast-tracked if he had wanted to have a mental meltdown at the workload and expectations and pressure, but he didn’t. He was just an average overachiever instead, top of his year and Cadet Sergeant, busy with basketball practice and judo matches and classes and flight simulations and --

Iverson was _up his ass_ , calling on him constantly in Command Ethics like he was just itching for an excuse to knock Shiro down a few pegs, and it --

“It’s _too much_ ,” Shiro moaned, face shoved into Richard’s neck. “How the hell do they expect us to complete all our homework with lights out at 1100 hours?! How!”

“Mm,” said Richard, and his arms shifted around Shiro’s back to turn a page in his physics textbook. The double click of a highlighter announced his agitation at what he found there. 

“...I should probably go,” sighed Shiro.

“Eh.” Richard tightened his grip around Shiro’s waist. “Only if you want to, Shirogane. I mean, I’m not about to complain about having a lapful of a beautiful boy, okay?”

But the highlighter clicked again.

“You have a test tomorrow,” Shiro frowned, and couldn’t quite help the way his muscles tensed. Because he was getting mixed signals, here, which wasn’t _new_ , not exactly. Not this year. Not when Shiro was stressed and ragged around the edges and Richard was frustrated, struggling to graduate with honors when he hadn’t put forth the effort in the first place, and it had been --

 _Fuck_. How long since they’d had sex?

“Funny that. I _do_.” And then Richard fucking _clicked the god damned highlighter again._

“Right,” Shiro grit out. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Have a -- have a good night.”

Moving too quickly, he shoved upright, sliding his feet to the floor and wobbling as his balance adjusted. He blinked down at Richard’s neck, the way his collar was creased and unbuttoned, and thought about how much he loved to kiss him there, right at the hollow of Richard’s throat.

For the record: Shiro’s throat was _not_ tight. He was _not_ fighting off tears.

“ _Babe_ ,” Richard sighed, “don’t be like that. You know I --”

“I know,” Shiro cut him off, dredging up a smile. Because he did; he was just...tired. That was all. “Of course. I should be doing homework, too, so don’t -- don’t worry about it, I’m just --”

“Hey, c’mere,” Richard said, and he was soft, now, gaze focusing on Shiro for the first time all evening. It loosened something that had grown tight in Shiro’s chest, just waiting for this to fail. Waiting for Shiro to fail like the fraud that he was.

Richard kissed him, sweet and lingering, twice on the mouth and once on the tip of his nose.

“I’ll see you this weekend,” Shiro promised, and now the smile felt real.

* * *

Luck, or chance, or _fate_ \-- Shiro hated the way that word felt curled on his tongue, leaden in his gut, vicious even unspoken in his mind -- had seen Ichiko in his homeroom class during his final year before the Garrison.

“She’s not even that pretty,” huffed Mayu, Shiro’s sort-of friend. She was only his sort-of friend because they were in all of each other’s advanced science and math classes together, and had done several projects and because, well...

No reason _not_ to be friends, right?

Except for this -- Mayu wrinkling her nose so that her glasses bumped along the bridge of her nose. She tugged at her bangs, pulling them down, like she hated that she was hiding behind them but wanted them to hide her more thoroughly, nonetheless. And the _tone_ , the voice, the vitriol, it --

“It’s stupid,” Mayu muttered, annoyed. “They know she can’t like any of them. She’s got a _soulmate_. Did you see what they did the other day? Drew hearts on her cheeks, like some anime character. Did you see how -- how dopey she looked? Grinning? Honestly, if I was her I’d be _mortified_. Doesn’t her soulmate know we are in school, and there are people here, and --”

It stung, the way she spoke, sometimes.

“You’re talking like they dote on her,” snorted Shiro, twirling a magic marker and gazing out the window. The blue sky was effortless, and calm, and didn’t seem to care one way or another if Shiro had a soulmate who liked to draw on him. “They’re _mean_. They know she’s taken, even without asking. They hate her because of that, I think.”

“So?” Mayu grumped, and erased something so viciously in her workbook that Shiro jerked his gaze toward her, watching to see if it would tear the page. “People always like the unattainable, don’t they? Who wants normal, boring, everyday sort of girls, huh? No one. Stupid _Ichiko_ , she deserves whatever mean things they do to her.”

Shiro, who had seen Ichiko just the week before open her shoe locker only to find it stuffed full of garbage, kept silent.

* * *

_She deserves whatever mean things they do to her._

Shiro didn’t want to believe -- ached, sometimes, at how unfair it was -- but...

There was a thought, small and peeping and skuttling, whispering like embroidered silk and wet like tears, like black ink, that stayed curled in the back of Shiro’s brain, waiting.

Waiting for weakness. Waiting for moments like _this_ \--

Richard pale and overworked, snapping at Shiro, his hands careless against his hips; Shiro angry and trying to hide it, overwhelmed with his new duties and without a minute to spare.

\-- to uncoil. To rear its ugly, fanged head, and whisper, whisper things like _aren’t you broken though?_ and _it won’t work, you don’t have free will, you don’t get to choose!_ and _are you even capable of loving anyone else?_

Because could he?

What the hell did anyone even know about soulmates, anyway? That they were _connected_ , somehow. That writing on one’s skin would appear on the other’s. That --

Nine out of ten soulmates got married within three months of meeting each other, like it was a done deal, no other endings permitted.

“ _I didn’t know what love truly was until I saw him_ ,” sighed a buxom woman on television. Shiro slumped into the nasty couch of the break room, glowering. “ _I thought that I did -- you know how it goes, right?_ ” Laughter from the host, half the crowd tittering along, like puppets. “ _But I was such a fool. I won’t ever love anyone as much as him, I just know it._ ”

“ _And there we are_ ,” announced the host. The camera switched to a wide-angle, displaying three contestants seated in black chairs with red, heart-shaped backs. Their significant others stood behind them. One of the couples had their hands linked coyly, half-hidden by the chair’s arm.

“ _Three couples! Only one of them soulmates. Can our judges pick who’s love is fated? Find out after this commercial break!_ ”

“Whaaaat, why does this show exist?” asked Inaaya beside him, wrinkling her nose. “I bet they’re all bogus, anyway. No way there are enough soulmates idiot enough to film an entire season of this crap.”

Shiro shrugged. Was just frustrated and stressed enough to press: “You don’t think it’s romantic?”

“ _No_ ,” said Inaaya, mournful. “How can something be romantic when it’s being paraded around on television? Give me a good romance novel, any day. At least they have depth to their emotions.”

“I didn’t mean the show. I meant...”

Inaaya blinked, and shifted next to him, readjusting the fall of her sari. It was a brighter, more vivid orange than their cadet uniform, warm like the sunset. Shiro felt drab and gray next to her in his sweats, tousled hair, and monstrous mood.

“Oh,” she said. “You mean -- in general? Sure, I guess. It certainly _sounds_ romantic. In print, anyway. Half the romance novels are all about soulmates. Though, huh... they don’t always get together. Actually, a _lot_ of them don’t.”

It was Shiro’s turn to blink and shift, turning toward her. “No? I would have thought --”

“ _Drama_ , Ace.” Inaaya grinned when Shiro wrinkled his nose at the new nickname. Someone had called it out mockingly after Shiro had aced the flight simulation for the fourth time in a row, and it had stuck. “Who doesn’t love it when people cry? Fictional people, at least.”

Shiro grimaced. “I don’t. That’s just _mean_ , why would --”

“Hey, it’s not like real life is sunshine all the time, either.” Inaaya raised a pointed brow at him and Shiro tried not to flinch; tried not to think of how, this time last year, he would have been in Richard’s room, laughing, happy, thinking _this is real, we’re real_ , with perfect, belligerent confidence. “Sometimes it’s _cathartic_ to enjoy someone else’s misery for a while. What do you think soap operas are for?”

“And historical dramas,” Shiro sighed, conceding the point.

“Ah. It’s back on!”

Shiro didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see, to wonder -- were they really soulmates? Were they really in love? Was it better, or worse? Was love a false and flighty thing until you found the one? Could there be more than one, could you be happy with _less_ …?

Could _Shiro_ trust his own happiness?

“ _Welcome back to Destined for Love! Our judges have deliberated, and I have here in this envelope the results. Now, the chosen couple will receive 7,000 dollars for proving their love to be the kind destinies are shaped by. But don't forget! If the lucky couple is not, in fact, our pair of soulmates, then they’ll receive an additional 3,000 dollars! Isn’t that nice? Ten grand for loving your partner, all by your own choice! No fated connection necessary!_ ”

The tinny laughter grated, mocking.

“ _And now, on three, we will ask our contestants to draw a line down the center of their forearm, big and bold! Will it show up on their partner? We’ll see! Three, two, o --!_ ”

The television changed to a recording of a tennis match.

“ _Isaac_ ,” Inaaya hissed. “We were watching that!”

“Don’t care,” Isaac grunted back, standing right in front of the television, scratching at the short bristles of his crew cut. “Bunch of bull, anyway. No such thing as soulmates.”

Inaaya rolled her eyes, exasperated.

_No such thing..._

Oh, if only. Shiro felt sick, nauseated. Felt raw and prickling, and he couldn’t stop seeing the couples all lined up, markers raised up in their hands like a showman’s baton, waiting for the final cue. Who would it have been? Did it matter?

They all said the same thing, half the time.

_I didn’t know true love until I met..._

What was real, what was fake? Shiro didn’t _know_ , but he wanted to believe -- _had_ to believe -- that he had a choice. That he could exercise his own will, live on his own terms, have a heart big enough to love who he wanted. _Had_ to believe that it wasn’t his fault that things weren’t going right with Richard, that it didn’t matter that the air between them was so strained, because Shiro had _chosen_ him, kept choosing him, every moment of every day that they were together, and that --

That _mattered_.

“Hey,” Inaaya said, flicking at Shiro’s hand. “What’s that say? That’s not Japanese, is it? How many languages do you _know_ , Shiro?”

“...What?”

On his hand, in pale red ink, were words he couldn’t pronounce, in a childish hand he’d never seen before.

_Fuck._

Shiro curled his fingers, tight and fast. Forced a laugh and rose from the couch, rolling his shoulders, his mind racing. At least all those tactical classes and scenarios where he had to perform under duress were being put to good use. Fuck. “That would be telling,” he finally said, after only a moment’s hesitation. He managed a crooked grin. “I can’t give you all my secrets. Then you might take the title of Ace from me.”

“Nope,” Isaac murmured, just loud enough to be heard. “That’ll be me, Shirogane.”

“Sure, sure. I look forward to the challenge, buddy. See you guys tomorrow!”

“See you!” called Inaaya.

But Shiro was already out the room, down the hall, so sick he thought he would hurl, all tangled anger and barbed despair, like he’d only been waiting since that morning when he was eight and he had scrubbed and scrubbed at his feet to try and get the ink off, and failed, _failed_ ; as if Shiro had only been waiting to fail again, to drop from the scaffold and find a noose about his neck, no other path left.

Fucking _asshole_ soulmate had the worst timing, ever.

* * *

Shiro turned eighteen shortly after a lackluster Valentine’s day.

That was all right, though. Couples had to _work_ at it, right? It took effort, and not all times were good times, but so long as Shiro cared, so long as he put in the effort and made the choice -- the choice; always choosing -- then it was going to be okay.

It _was_.

Even if the kid _had_ started scribbling in Spanish all over Shiro’s _fucking arm_.

“What’s this?” Richard asked, on a rare day they both had a moment to breathe between exams, after the sports season had ended and their clubs were winding down. _Finally_ , Shiro felt like maybe it would be all right. Like _they_ would be all right.

“Mm,” said Shiro, quirking his brows mischievously while Richard ran his thumb along Shiro’s lifeline. “Trying to learn a new language.”

Richard gave a low whistle. “It’ll certainly look good on the resume. You’re something else, Shirogane. You’re -- you’re going to go places, y’know? Big places. Far off places. You’ll --”

“So will you,” interrupted Shiro, closing his fingers around Richard’s, holding on. “We can go there together, after I graduate. You and me. We can take on the stars.”

“...Yeah,” Richard sighed, leaning his forehead against Shiro’s temple. Shiro closed his eyes and enjoyed it. This was Richard’s last year. He was going to graduate. He was going to be gone, soon, and Shiro hated it so, so much. He didn’t want to _miss_ him. Could hardly stand that he had already spent so much of this year missing Richard before his boyfriend had even left.

But it would be okay.

He believed that because he had to.

* * *

Shiro bought a beginner workbook, a Spanish-English dictionary that he left in plain view on his desk, and a new box of cheap multi-colored ballpoint pens. Then he told the newest chicken scratch on his left palm, just a little smudged and with added marks doodled in excitement around the letters: “I won’t let you win. I _won’t_.”

Shiro could _make_ it work, long-distance and all. Sometimes, maybe, real life was a little star-crossed and complicated, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prob no update on this next week. tryin' to whip somethin' up for fluff week (Careful, Lance lifted his elbow enough to peer sideways, to see _Shiro_ , sprawled out on his stomach facing away from him, his vest all twisted up, hair an unruly mess, and --) as well as getting ch2 of [without the means to run](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14807771/chapters/34262045) up ( _Shiro held on to that warm red light, that beating pulse like a heart, that connection -- felt Lance open up and welcome him -- felt himself anchor in, deep, holding fast, never letting go because he couldn’t, if he did he would -- he would be --_ )
> 
> ....yeah i'm 100% pimping myself here, sorry/not sorry??? thanks so much for reading!! i really hope you enjoyed it!


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